


My Own Personal Sunset

by BroImLooking



Series: dream smp fics [5]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Ghost Wilbur Soot, M/M, Sad Wilbur Soot, Self-Hatred, is this problematic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29056470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroImLooking/pseuds/BroImLooking
Summary: Wilbur and Ghostbur spend some time together.title taken from "La Jolla" by Wilbur Soot
Relationships: Ghostbur/Wilbur Soot
Series: dream smp fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2161431
Comments: 7
Kudos: 72





	My Own Personal Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> tw for general themes of self-hatred

“I really do hate you, you know?” 

The words had an echo to them, in the vast blankness of whatever afterlife that it was that the two stood in. Ghostbur let out a questioning hum as he turned to face him. Wilbur met his confused gaze with a glare. After a few moments of processing, he responded.

“I don’t think I’m too fond of you either, to tell you the truth. I don’t think you were a very good person,” Ghostbur’s voice was soft, the echo more pronounced than Wilbur’s. Wilbur opened his mouth to respond, something hateful clawing at his throat and begging to be released, but Ghostbur continued talking.

“I don’t suppose I can judge, though. I don’t know what it is that you’ve been through.” Wilbur hated him. He hated that Ghostbur’s arrival meant that he had to see a pathetic mockery of himself. He hated how insufferably kind he always was to him. It made something ugly roil in his stomach. It made him want to scream.

“I only did what I had to do. L’manburg was destroyed long before I hit that button. I didn’t want to see my little brothers trying to pilot its corpse,” Wilbur justified firmly. He had spent a lot of time going over whether or not his decision to destroy L’manburg was a good one. He still wasn’t sure whether he’d been right or not.

“They did rebuild it beautifully,” Ghostbur half-agreed, floating a little closer. Something about his presence always set Wilbur on edge. It was something about how glassy and blank his eyes looked, as though he were a corpse. His skin was pale, as if he were a corpse completely drained of blood. He looked so much like Wilbur, but so different. 

“Yeah, they did,” Wilbur said, quiet. He sat down on the featureless ground, letting out a deep sigh. As much as he hated how boring the afterlife was, he was positive that it was better than the living world. At least here he was incapable of fucking anything else up. 

Ghostbur settled on the ground beside him, and Wilbur could feel the coldness that emanated from him. The ghost dug in his pockets and offered him a handful of pale blue. Wilbur accepted it, knowing better than to argue, and the two quietly watched as the substance turned a deep rich blue in a matter of moments. Wilbur squeezed it, and some of the thick liquid dripped from his hand like blood. 

“You’re sad,” Ghostbur observed. He didn’t ask any dumb questions or offer any of his pathetic help. Instead, he scooted a little closer and leaned in, resting his head on Wilbur’s shoulder. It was as if he were made of ice. Wilbur felt like just touching him was choking him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to shove him away.

Ghostbur was strange. It was as if someone had reached into Wilbur’s chest and pulled out all of his most pathetic qualities and reshaped them into his own image. Wilbur dropped the blue to the ground, annoyed at how quickly it had colored his fingers. Ghostbur’s hands had been permanently stained with the stuff, and he had deep blue patches all over his clothes and skin from where he’d gotten the substance on him and just let it sink in. 

Wilbur wondered if this was what was always meant to happen to him. It felt like some type of cosmic joke. All of his lives gone, leaving him to slowly rot in the afterlife with the physical manifestation of his trauma trying to cuddle with him and Schlatt undoubtedly watching them from some distance away. It had to be a joke, that all of his suffering and misery had all been for nothing. The living people had already rebuilt L’manburg, then promptly had it destroyed again during his absence. His legacy was gone. Everyone had moved on. He wondered how long it would be until he was forgotten completely. 

“I miss Friend,” Ghostbur said, suddenly breaking the pressing silence. Wilbur knew of Friend. He was the sheep that Ghostbur had become attached to. Due to the animal technically being immortal, there was no way for him to join Ghostbur in the afterlife. He’d have to go back to the mortal world in order to visit him. 

“We could go visit him,” Wilbur offered, not even realizing he’d doomed himself to going along with him until Ghostbur had jumped up, beaming.

“You’ll come with me?” Ghostbur asked, a big smile on his face. It was uncanny to see such an open look of joy on someone who looked just like himself. Wilbur couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled about something happy. He sighed out his nose despite the fact that he didn’t actually need air. There was no way he could get out of that one without upsetting him, and he really didn’t want to deal with a whiny Ghostbur. 

\--

It wasn’t hard to find an area where the barrier between the afterlife and the mortal world was thin. Karl Jacobs had been time-travelling and dimension hopping, and the location that he’d established as his base had thin walls around its reality. It was practically child’s play to slip through, especially with someone as practiced at it as Ghostbur. 

Ghostbur was excited to the point where he was practically bouncing around, and it was irritating. Wilbur hated to see what looked like himself goofing off like an idiot without a care in the world. 

“It’s so pretty out today,” Ghostbur said, spinning around in lazy circles as he hovered a couple inches in the air. Wilbur disagreed. The place where they had slipped through was just on the edge of the crater that had once been L’manburg. Even Wilbur’s destruction hadn’t been as absolute as what Dream, Techno, and Philza had done. 

He felt a sense of vertigo looking over the edge. It dropped straight to bedrock in some places, with jagged stones and piles of rubble around the edges of the deepest gouges where it hadn’t been so completely destroyed. He should love the destruction. It should’ve been beautiful. He just had a sick feeling in his stomach. 

“Oh, what happened here?” Ghostbur asked, looking over the edge next to him. The wind seemed to be blowing into the gaping wound in the earth, as if the air was trying to fill the void. Wilbur could feel himself being drawn closer, though whether that was from the wind or his own desires was hard to tell. He turned and walked away, fixing his hair from where the wind had tangled it. He didn’t want to look at it anymore.

“Dream blew up L’manburg. They’re not going to rebuild it again,” Wilbur said, irritated. Ghostbur’s hair was wild and windswept, and Wilbur resisted the strong urge to run his hands through it to make him look like less of an idiot. Ghostbur looked a little sad. 

“Oh… That’s a shame. I helped build that with Tubbo, you know… It was a happy memory,” Ghostbur retrieved some more blue from his pockets, clenching the substance tightly as it darkened and dripped through his fingers like thick mud. Wilbur turned his attention away from him.

“We need to get moving if we want to get to Friend,” Wilbur said, beginning to start in the vague direction of where he’d seen Dream store the sheep. He hoped that he hadn’t been moved since then. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone. 

At least it was sunny outside. Wilbur had spent most of the last months of his life deep underground in the caverns of Pogtopia. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the open air and sunlight until after he’d died.

Ghostbur began to hum softly from where he was walking behind him. The soft, melancholic notes of the L’manburg anthem. Wilbur scowled, tempted to tell him to knock it off, when Ghostbur began to sing. 

Wilbur knew he was a good singer. It was a simple fact, not him bragging. Ghostbur clearly had the same talent, though his voice was softer and kinder. He sang alternate lyrics, with a more hopeful tone. Wilbur kept his mouth shut and he let Ghostbur sing. On his third time singing the same song on repeat, Wilbur joined him.

\--

The vast underground room was so massive that it felt like it had its own atmosphere. It was strangely humid, and distinctly warmer than the air on the surface. The strange machine shuddered and clicked as it brought Wilbur and Ghostbur to the floor. They stepped off, and Wilbur stepped foot onto the bedrock and blackstone floor. 

It was certainly ominous. Despite the danger being gone, something about the place shouted to Wilbur that there was something deeply wrong here. It was like malice had been built into the very walls of the room. 

Wilbur walked over to where he’d seen the sheep while watching things go down, and sure enough, Friend was visible through the fence he’d been trapped in even from so far away. The sheep seemed to be in good health despite the lack of food and water. It was immortal, after all.

“Friend!” Ghostbur shouted happily, and he hurried over to where the pen was. His gleeful shout echoed throughout the massive room in a way that was disorienting. The only other sound in the entire place was the unnerving breathing sounds of the Nether portal.

He followed Ghostbur, his footsteps not making a sound due to the fact that he was incorporeal. Ghostbur had buried his face into the blue wool of the sheep, and seemed content to just stay there. Wilbur sat on the fence, watching. Something about Ghostbur irritated him greatly.

“He’s so soft, Wilbur,” Ghostbur said, looking up. His hair was even more of a mess now, but he looked so happy cuddled up to that sheep that Wilbur couldn’t find it in him to say anything about it. He reached out and patted the sheep’s back, finding that his wool truly was soft. Friend seemed to be pleased with the attention, and let out a soft “baa” of appreciation. 

Wilbur supposed the sheep was cute, at least. He could see what Ghostbur saw in him. He wondered what it was like to be Ghostbur. A part of him envied him for being able to just forget all of his troubles and only think about cuddling with blue sheep. It must be nice. 

Ghostbur returned to singing, this time some other song that even Wilbur had half-forgotten. Some sad thing that he’d made up himself and used to sing to Tommy and Tubbo whenever they’d asked. He did always enjoy making music. 

Friend settled onto the ground, and Ghostbur laid down next to him, using the sheep as a pillow. Friend looked up at Wilbur with friendly brown eyes, letting out a curious baa, as if questioning why he wasn’t down on the stone floor cuddling him as well. 

“I think you’d be happier if you cuddled up with us, Wilbur,” Ghostbur said happily, some time after he’d stopped singing. Wilbur let out a deep sigh, but he was honestly considering it. “I won’t bother you at all when we get back if you do,” Ghostbur said, further tempting him. 

Wilbur thought about it. He would appreciate having some peace and quiet. Ever since Ghostbur started spending more time in the land of the dead than in the land of the living, Wilbur hadn’t had a moment of peace and quiet. At least when it was only Schlatt all he had to deal with being occasionally hit on. Ghostbur seemed to be obsessed with him, and was annoyingly chipper on top of that.

Making up his mind, he slipped down onto the floor next to where the sheep and ghost were lying. It was hard, but not any worse than the ground he had grown used to resting on. The bedrock was rough and scraped at the calloused skin of his hands, but the blackstone was cool and smooth.

He settled down next to Ghostbur, resting his head on Friend’s warm, soft wool. He was pressed close to Ghostbur now, staring up at the high ceiling as the freezing cold man next to him pressed intentionally closer.

He felt cold fingers intertwine with his, and he looked down to see Ghostbur’s blue-stained grey hand in his own. It was strange, to be holding a hand so similar to his own but so different. Ghostbur’s hand didn’t have calluses, and his nails weren’t bitten down as short as they could go. He was freezing. 

Wilbur looked over and met his blank gaze. Ghostbur was lying on his side facing Wilbur with a soft look on his face. They sat in silence like that, for a long minute.

“It’s strange,” Ghostbur said quietly, breaking the strange tension that had filled the space between them when Wilbur hadn’t been paying attention.

“What’s strange?”

“Everyone always talked about you like you were a bad person. I was always glad that we weren’t really the same. I didn’t want to be bad.” Ghostbur leaned in a little closer, lips parted in a way that Wilbur could only describe as pretty. He wondered when it was that he became such a narcissist.

“I don’t think you’re bad, Wilbur,” Ghostbur said, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper. “I think you’re just sad and scared. I think I get like that sometimes too, but I always forget. You’re just like me, but strong enough to remember.” Ghostbur was so close that Wilbur could feel his cold breath when he spoke. He felt Ghostbur’s grip on his hand tighten. 

He never considered himself to be strong. He certainly didn’t _ feel _ very strong. He just felt wretched and evil. Ghostbur didn’t realize how lucky he was, to not be forced to remember the crimes Wilbur committed. The terrible things he did. He hurt so many people-

He jumped when Friend shifted underneath him, and both he and Ghostbur had to sit up in order to avoid hitting their heads on the floor when the sheep stood up. 

After that, they decided that it was time to leave. Ghostbur brought Friend up with them, and let him go to graze on the grass. Wilbur felt like he was in a daze as he listened to Ghostbur cheerfully explain that Friend would stay in the area so that they could find him when they came back to visit. He wondered if he’d just imagined that strangely intimate moment.

Wilbur began to start back to the area they’d crossed over in, but he was stopped by Ghostbur grabbing his wrist and turning him around. 

“I mean it, by the way. I want to be more like you, but I think I’m too scared. I don’t want to remember. I’m not strong enough. You’re just…” Ghostbur was close again, and Wilbur was starting to realize what that ugly, impossible feeling blooming inside of him had been.

“You won’t even remember this conversation, Ghostbur,” Wilbur said bitterness in his voice. Ghostbur shrugged. He didn’t seem bothered by Wilbur’s words at all. He still had a soft smile on his face. The sun had started to set, and the orange light washing over him nearly made him look alive.

“Maybe. I don’t think so, though. I tend to keep my happiest memories,” Ghostbur was pressing close to him again, their faces only inches apart. Wilbur licked his lips, and he felt like if he still had to breathe he’d be hyperventilating as Ghostbur leaned against him. 

Ghostbur’s lips were cold against his when he kissed him, just like the rest of him. After a few moments of shock, Wilbur closed his eyes and kissed him back. Ghostbur’s hands settled on his hips and Wilbur wondered if he could die again. Surely this would kill him?

Ghostbur broke the kiss. His face was flushed darker grey, his mimicry of blood as colorless as the rest of him. Wilbur felt his face burn in return. What was  _ wrong _ with him? This was definitely morally wrong in some way, right? 

He found the panicked self-deprecating thoughts that had begun to pile up trickle away like water as Ghostbur leaned in, this time pressing kisses to his jaw. His breathing hitched as he tilted his head, letting him kiss at his neck. It felt good. He gripped Ghostbur’s soft sweater tightly in his fingers.

Eventually, Ghostbur pressed a kiss to his nose before pulling back. It was only kisses, but it had brought the most intense emotions Wilbur had felt the entire time he’d been dead. Ghostbur’s smile was warm enough to offset how freezing hold the hands that still lingered on his hips were. 

“I think I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” Ghostbur confessed with a small, nervous laugh. 

“I don’t know how to respond, to be honest,” Wilbur said. “I liked it, though. I don’t think I should, but…” He was cut off by Ghostbur kissing him once again. 

He closed his eyes and savored it. 

**Author's Note:**

> i literally wrote this as a joke because of my discord so blame them. drop a comment to tell me what u think pls thx <3
> 
> listen if anyone has a problem with this my excuse is that its an elaborate metaphor for trauma recovery and learning to love yourself after it ok


End file.
